


Recounting Tales to Hobbits and Other Unappreciative Audiences

by VillaKulla



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: (very mild angst. like just enough to keep my need to pun in check), Action/Adventure, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, turns out Gimli is a bit of a sap and Legolas is kind of weird. Even for an elf.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:02:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/pseuds/VillaKulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You would think that after tracking two hobbits the length of Middle Earth, they'd consider showing some gratitude for a dwarf's pains. Maybe ask for tales of your more heroic deeds. But nooo, once they get the idea that there's something going on between you and a certain elf, it's all about how exactly you and His Royal Blondness came to be. A thorough mangling of Tolkien's universe follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [krakenface.tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=krakenface.tumblr.com).



“Well to tell you the truth, laddie, it caught us both by surprise the first time it happened.” Gimli paused to take a puff of the Longbottom leaf the young hobbits had graciously offered, earlier that day.

“What, the first time you had each other on your backs?” sniggered Merry.

Gimli sputtered and in doing so, accidentally inhaled half a pipe’s worth of the acrid smoke. While he hacked and had clouds of the stuff pouring out his nose, the two hobbits howled with laughter.

“Oi, Merry!” gasped Pippin, between breaths. “Why do you reckon we’re spending all this time going all the way to Mordor when we could have just given Mount Doom here a pipe, dropped the ring in his mouth and be done with it?”

“I’ve never seen so much smoke in my life,” wheezed Merry.

“A lifetime that’s about to be drastically cut short if ye keep that up,” growled Gimli, having regained control of his lungs.

“Ah come on Gimli, don’t stop there!” begged Pippin. “You were just about to tell us how you took up with his royal blondness?” 

Gimli sighed. After finally reuniting with the two good-for-nothing hobbits in Isengard, they were back in Edoras enjoying some much-needed celebrating, after their victory at Helm’s Deep. The festivities were in full swing and he had promised the elf an explanation of drinking games later in the evening (and really, how does one manage to live multiple centuries without witnessing any drinking game, even a simple round of flip-tankard?) “Elves,” he thought, shaking his auburn head. But before he could seek out his companion he was cornered by the two hobbits, both demanding to know how long he and the elven prince had been carrying on for.

“And that’s another thing,” said Gimli. “How exactly is it you came to learn of that in the first place? Aragorn’s no gossip but as far as I know he’s been the only one with some idea of what - “

“Please,” Pippin scoffed. “We don’t need the likes of our elders and Merry’s betters to explain to us the ways of the world.” He ignored Merry’s yelp of protest and pressed on, going, “We’ve both eyes for ourselves. But the last time we saw you, the both of you couldn’t let the other get a word in edgewise without some comment or another– “

“ - and the next time we se you,” continued Merry, “you’re rounding the corner, coming out of the forest as chummy can be, both on the back of the same horse!”

“And that,” concluded Pippin, “is what I call a horse of a different colour!” and the two completely fell apart again.

Gimli grumbled and waited for them to collect themselves, as he cleared a space on their table for the new tankards of ale being set down for them. Seeing this, the hobbits sprang on their pints.

“To Gimli’s story,” said Pippin solemnly, raising his mug in the air.

“Would that we hear it one day soon,” added Merry, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“You sure now?” asked Gimli, raising an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t rather tell the story yourself? I’m starting to realize why I never spoke to the both of ye more…” and smiled at the indignant faces. “All right, well as I was saying, it caught us both by surprise…”


	2. Chapter 2

“The first time would have been in the tomb of my cousin, Balin.” Gimli paused to take a generous swallow of ale. When he looked over the top of his mug, both Hobbits looked aghast.

“In your cousin’s…tomb?” Merry croaked out.

“Philandering in a family member’s tomb, that’s just disagreeable in so many ways,” said Pippin, barely suppressing a full-body shudder.

“Philandering, what are you…what, NO!” roared Gimli, understand their meaning. “Not the first time we…that. God’s be, lads, you were there, when would we have even had the time, let alone inclination? No I’m talking about the first time we had a, oh what would you call it, a connection I suppose, beyond pure disagreement.”

“Riiiight,” drawled Pippin.

“So you’re in the tomb?” Merry prompted.

“Aye, and we were battling the cave troll. The beast had already put his club to my cousin’s tomb, and I was mad with grief. I was on the floor and could hear its footsteps coming towards me but I couldn’t get up. That’s when I heard something else.”

***  
There was a great whoosh over the dwarf’s head and then the deafening roar of the troll. Gimli craned his head upwards to catch a glimpse of two arrows lodged in the beast’s hide. He didn’t have to see they were of elvish make, to know that it was Legolas who had bought him the few extra seconds he needed to get up and plant his axe into the oncoming orc.

He yanked his axe back and spun around, looking for the elf. He spotted him along the side of the tomb, a whirling mass of flying hair and blades slashing. The troll was now thundering towards Legolas, brandishing the heavy iron chain that had been keeping him captive.

Gimli winced, imagining the thick, dark metal crashing into the lightest and lithest member of their company, and hurried towards them. But before he could make a move to help, Legolas did something that made Gimli stop and blink. That crazy bastard was running along the length of the chain, leaping on top of the beast and sending two arrows down towards its skull. The ricocheted off and the troll thrashed wildly. Rather than being thrown, Legolas simply leapt off and spun once on his feet before continuing in the battle.

Gimli snapped to, reaching out for two nearby orcs who were closing in, and crashing their heads together. But he couldn’t help raising an eyebrow. “I’m beginning to see your uses,” he called out to the retreating archer. Legolas turned around, still in the motions of shooting an arrow. He didn’t quite smile, but his eyes were alive and bright as any jewel Gimli had seen.

The battle was beginning to come to an end, with only the troll left now to deal with. Gimli took up a position in front of it. He was sure he had opening in which to hurl his axe another time. But just as he was taking a swipe at its hide, he received the full force of its backhand.

For the second time in that clash, Gimli was made vulnerable by the troll. But for the second time again, that elf came in out of nowhere with his bow, coming in between Gimli and the danger. Legolas waited until the troll’s head was thrown back, and loosed a single, yet effective arrow into its throat. It only took a few moments of the beast staggering and emitting terrible wheezing groans, before it toppled to the ground, shaking the whole cavern as it fell.

Gimli staggered back to his feet, ready to heartily congratulate Legolas on delivering the killing blow, an automatic reaction. But as he was about to bring his hands together he paused to look at him.

Legolas was staring down at their foe, no sign of celebration. He closed his eyes and when he reopened them there was regret in them. No, perhaps not regret. Pity was in the elf’s gaze, and when he listed his head again his eyes met Gimli’s.

The elf had served them well, in their first actual battle as a company. Twice he had intervened when Gimli himself was directly threatened. Gimli was not so proud that he could not be grateful to another warrior. And he also that his comrade might not be disposed to celebrating a victory over a creature so pitiful as the one lying at their feet. So without breaking his gaze, Gimli inclined his head in a brusque nod towards the elf. Legolas gave him a considering look, and nodded in return. And when their eyes stayed fixed on one another, Gimli felt a charge that had nothing to do with the battle.

***

Gimli looked at his two companions. Both sat silently, with matching looks of stoicism.

“That’s it?” Pippin broke first. “What kind of tale of romance is that?”

“We’re not talking about the first time you made eye¬ contact,” sputtered Merry.

“Well I was,” said Gimli, somewhat indignantly. “I was talking about the first time we’d had an agreeable contact of any kind, that didn’t revolve around us riling up the other.” Gimli took a swig of his ale before continuing. “Nothing like a turn at an enemy’s throat to keep you from each other’s throats, ay?” and hooted with laughter at his turn of phrase.

Both hobbits still looked extremely unimpressed.

“That’s…” said Pippin.

“…sweet,” said Merry, looking slightly aghast.

“Look,” said Pippin, feeling slightly guilty. “I’m sure it was an indescribable moment, but what we want to know is when…well when…Merry?” he finished weakly.

“When the two of you made contact with more than just your pupils,” said Merry.

“Right you are,” said Gimli, rather enjoying their growing impatience. “Well, lads, what you’re clumsily getting at was not in fact much later.” He stopped to further pack in the pipe-weed with his thumb. “Not much later at all. It happened in Lórien.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gandalf…gone. It didn’t make any sense for Gimli. Dwarves, by nature, are all about constancy. When you work with stone you aren’t ending its existence. You’re simply reshaping it into something new. Bringing out hidden colours, polishing the exterior, enhancing the corners…but you still posses the same stone. It doesn’t end. Gimli couldn’t accept that Gandalf was gone. Not because he was in denial. More because this sort of thing didn’t happen. Not to Gimli, at least.

In Lórien they’d been having a brief period of respite. But somehow it seemed a mixed blessing. In some ways…well, Gimli felt slightly guilty, but in some ways he wished they were still on the road. While journeying they had had nought to think of but the next obstacle. After a while a road becomes almost soothing to the traveller. Boulder up ahead there, low-hanging limb here, and all the rest of it. But now that they had time to be at ease, Gimli would just as soon not be with his thoughts. Gandalf was their stability. They were certainly an able crew by themselves. But without the security of a wizard around, the road ahead seemed treacherous as ever. The absence of Gandalf was a pressing reality. Sometimes it would flare up, painful as anything, but it would never really truly leave.

Unable to deal with his thoughts any longer, Gimli stood up. He didn’t have any set purpose, but he felt the sudden and desperate need to be doing something. He began to set off down a tree-lined path, passing his companions as they slept.

He wondered how they were taking it. The hobbits hadn’t been well at all. They perhaps had had the least need to be action-oriented in their own lives. And as such were least able to keep moving, therefore feeling the blow more keenly. The humans…well those two were mysteries unto themselves. Their valor impressed Gimli, but as to what was going through their heads at any moment…well, for that Gimli could only guess. And as for the elf…

Come to think of it, where had Legolas gotten off to? Gimli had glimpsed him earlier that evening. It would have been hard not to. His first, foolish thought was that a moonbeam had somehow come to life. He had dismissed the thought immediately, embarrassed beyond measure, but honestly, who knew what sort of ridiculous things happen in elf forests? He had gotten used to the elf’s travel clothing. Practical cloth and soft leathers that fit in seamlessly with their surroundings. He was still fair in a way that contrasted with their environment, but practical enough. You could almost think he was one of the humans, if you looked very very quickly. However, here among his kind, he had abandoned any pretense of blending in. Clad in silks, silvers and what seemed to be light itself, he was as unearthly as Gimli had ever seen him.

Gimli continued down the winding path. It looped around fountains, trellises, and gazebos, all of which seemed to growing from the forest itself, in perfect balance with their surroundings. Not Gimli’s personal style, but beautiful nonetheless. The path took him to the top of a hill, where some space had cleared in the trees. But the space wasn’t empty.

Legolas sat in the cleared area, overlooking the entire valley from this spot. He was in the shadow of a giant oak but the panorama of starlight lit up his face, reflecting off of the robes in which he’d been sheathed. 

Gimli would have coughed or made some sign to announce his presence, if he hadn’t known that Legolas had probably already heard his gradual approach from a good kilometer back. And indeed the elf - without break his gaze from the moonlit valley - nodded in Gimli’s direction.  
“Evening, lad,” greeted Gimli. Here the elf leaned, so as to look at him fully. A smile crept over his lips.

“You continue to surprise me, Gimli son of Gloin.”

Gimli shifted uneasily. “Care to elaborate? Or are you in the mood for twenty questions?” He was referencing the game that the hobbits had taken to playing while left on watch-duty, as a means of staying awake.

Legolas shrugged lightly. “I mean no offense. It’s just unexpected to find a dwarf so willingly and independently roaming an elvish forest.”

Gimli raised a bushy eyebrow. “Would you feel better holding my hand?” At this, Legolas grinned wider with a flash of teeth, unusual for him.

Gimli let out a “hmmph” of amusement and shuffled slightly.

“Sit with me,” said Legolas, gesturing to the grass beside him. Gimli had no reason not to, not expecting to be able to get back to sleep. He crossed in front of Legolas and sat down next to him, both of their back against the smooth bark of the tree.

“I do mean it though,” continued Legolas, as though he hadn’t stopped. “The times I find myself surprised by you seem to occur with…frequency.”

Gimli started to lean forward and almost began to bristle. However, the defensiveness that he usually adopted when dealing with the elf seemed to be slower than usual on the uptake. Maybe it was because Legolas’ voice held none of the typical air of great suffering that he usually adopted when dealing with Gimli. And Gimli knew that particular inflection for what it was, for it was the same tone that he himself took with Legolas.

“And how is that exactly,” he grumbled.

Legolas turned his head and met Gimli with an even gaze. “I’m not sure, entirely. You just seem different from other dwarves.”

Gimli snorted, but settled back against the tree. “Gone carousing with a lot of dwarves then, have you, laddie?”

Legolas paused a moment. “I wouldn’t say so, no. In truth, most of what I’ve heard of your people I know just that: only what I’ve heard.” He seemed to hesitate before speaking again, but then asked: “Do you remember Rivendell?” 

Gimli nodded. “What about it?”

“You had me so worried.”

“Oh did I?”

Legolas had a straight face but his eyes were sparkling with something close to laughter. “You should have seen yourself. Right after you decided that the One Ring needed to be destroyed, and that your axe was the one to do it.” His shoulders began to shake with barely suppressed delight. “Dwarf, man or elf, I’ve never seen anyone so surprised in my entire life.” And at that he broke off, bursting into laughter.

Gimli’s mouth fell open. He’d never seen the elf put on such a display, since the start of their journey. It was like watching a Warg walk on its hind legs. Though no Warg had ever sounded quite so gleeful. He closed up his mouth again, ready to be indignant, but its corners were beginning to twitch. He looked away quickly, but one look back at Legolas’ face and he was sent into a roar of uncontrollable mirth.

They sat there, fairly doubled-over by the spasms of their laughter. It seemed wrong to break the serenity of the forest at night with such regalement but the moment they calmed down they would be set off again almost instantly.

Eventually they settled back to normal, Gimli wiping away tears. Legolas seemed neither worse for wear nor out of breath, but his entire face was alight. Gimli took a deep breath and Legolas snickered at him, an entirely unexpected sound coming from one so seemingly upright. That would teach him to buy the high-and-mighty act his kind seemed to keen to show off.

He had no sooner had that thought, when Legolas suddenly leaned forward and gripped his arm, urgently. Gimli looked down at the elf’s hand on his arm and back to his face, more surprised than he’d been when Legolas had shown his capacity for glee. There were no more traces of gaiety left in the elf’s face, however. Instead there was something close to desperation.

“Oh Gimli, let’s not,” said Legolas. Before Gimli even had a chance to ask what he was talking about, he went on in something close to a rush, “I can’t bear for us to be at odds anymore. I don’t expect us to be in constant harmonious agreement, but I can’t stand to be at each other’s throats any longer. After Gandalf…it just doesn’t seem worth it.”

Gimli swallowed, flooded once more with images of Gandalf on the bridge, the last time he’d looked upon the fellowship. “Aye. That I can do.”

Legolas’ eyes softened, and he squeezed Gimli’s arm, once, before letting go. “I’m glad,” he said. And Gimli couldn’t help the way in which the statement pierced his heart, no more than he could help his own soft smile that appeared in response.

“So,” began Gimli. “How are you? I confess I don’t know how your people handle a loss like that.”

A crease appeared between Legolas’ eyebrows. “I can’t speak for all my kind, but I can speak for myself and – “ but then he abruptly clammed up.

Gimli nudged him. “And…?”

Legolas shook his head. “You’ll think me ridiculous.”

“Too late for that.”

Legolas almost smiled but his face was still lost in thought. “It won’t make sense to you, but after Gandalf’s death I find myself extremely…”

Gimli nodded sympathetically. “I know it’s hard, lad – “

“- aroused.”

(It should be noted that at this point in the telling of Gimli’s story, one of the hobbits squawked “WHAT”, accidentally sending his mug flying into the other’s face, causing that hobbit to splutter and eject half of his beverage through his nose.)

There was a silence that seemed to last longer than their journey through the mines. If Gimli had blinked with any more rapidity, he could have created a wind to blow them all to Mordor. Not being able to stand it anymore, Gimli cleared his throat and said very deliberately: “Like I said. I don’t understand your kind.”

“I knew you wouldn’t see,” muttered the elf, with just the barest hint of petulance.

Gimli sputtered. “You’re giving me whiplash,” he boomed. “What in the name of all the heavens is wrong with you?”

Legolas clenched his jaw. “It’s not as though I can help it,” he exclaimed. He then took a breath and released it. “Look. For all that you call me ‘lad’ you would agree that I’ve seen far more years than you, yes?” Before Gimli could comment, Legolas barreled on. “Yes. Not years, lifetimes. You might think elves are not used to death, and perhaps that’s so, when it comes to our people. But we see death constantly in the cycle of nature we’re a part of. Trees, flowers…but everything comes back. They reproduce naturally and we sense it, and it’s all alright. But when it happens to one of us and we know there’s no returning from it…it’s instinct.” Here he looked at Gimli. “I can’t help it. When something is lost to us, the desire to participate in this cycle, in life itself, is very nearly overpowering.” He looked back down again.

Gimli was reeling from the ridiculousness of the situation. This was the most he’d ever seen into Legolas’ thought process, and it had left him as startled as anything. He certainly had a lot of reevaluating to get through. But looking at the uncharacteristic stiffness of Legolas’ shoulders, he let out a sigh. “I know I’m spending too much time with elves when that load of rubbish makes sense to me,” he mumbled. He wanted desperately to be chewing on a blade of grass in place of his pipe, but he half expected it to send the elf into a rant about the life of grass, and its relationship to elvish mating rituals.

Legolas seemed to relax somewhat, though not entirely. “You don’t think it’s strange then?”

Gimli snorted. “Lad, you’re one of the more unequivocally strange beings I’ve ever met. But I do understand why you would find the reaction natural even I do not share your current” Gimli swallowed awkwardly “-condition.”

The tension is Legolas’ shoulders began to ease visibly. He smiled. “I must confess, I didn’t think your kind capable of such rationalism.”

Gimli scowled. “Well we dwarves do not tend towards constant philosophizing, true enough. But then, not all of us have as ample time in life to spare as the elves.”

Legolas laughed softly. “True enough, indeed.” 

Suddenly Legolas stood up, very abruptly. He turned his back to Gimli so that he was turned away from the starlit valley that sprawled beneath them. “You need to go, Gimli,” he said, without turning around.

Gimli startled. “For what reason? ” The elf didn’t respond. “Legolas, you’ve told me much tonight, is it beyond you to tell me what troubles you?”

Legolas craned his neck back. Gimli could just make out his face, and it was flooded with desperation. “Nay, I cannot do that. If you would ever call me friend then you must leave. Please.”

Gimli blinked, and then steeled his gaze. “And if you would ever call ME a friend,” he said, advancing towards the elf, “then you should not expect me to abandon you when you are so obviously troubled.”

“I’m not troubled.” Legolas whirled around. And given the height difference it was impossible for Gimli not to notice hard evidence of what he had just now learned to be, ‘elven grief.’ Legolas looked down, pursed his lips, and kneeled back down by Gimli. “Like I said, I’m not troubled,” he said, stubbornly. “I’m in mourning.” 

Someone stronger might not have laughed. Gimli was strong, but there were limits. 

Once the dwarf had himself under control he looked back at Legolas, who was sporting a very cross look indeed, one eyebrow raised.

“And are you quite finished?” he asked, archly. “Good.” And he began to get up from his kneeling position.

“Oh, lad, come now, I am sorry,” said Gimli, still chucking. He reached out and made as though to grab Legolas’ forearm. But as Legolas was getting up, Gimli missed and found himself suddenly clutching the elf’s hand.

He immediately felt a shiver where they were connected. This had to be breaching some kind of elvish etiquette. But he suddenly found himself unable, or unwilling to let go. Legolas looked at their hands, and back to Gimli, not saying anything. While Gimli felt anxious under the gaze, his hand felt nothing but warmth under Legolas’ palm. He stared into Legolas’ eyes. And slowly, deliberately, but almost impulsively, ran his thumb over the elf’s fingers.

Legolas hissed, but did not, as Gimli noted with satisfaction, draw back. Rather, he eased back down to where he had been kneeling near the dwarf, bringing their faces back onto the same level. Gimli continued the motion. “Gimli, what is it you think you’re doing,” a small voice whispered in the back of his head. Gimli didn’t have an answer. What he did have was an elf’s hand in his, and at the moment it seemed to be far more worthy of his focus. He reached for Legolas’s face with his other hand, and grazed his knuckles over his cheek.

“Gimli,” murmured Legolas, his eyelids beginning to droop. “You’re not exactly helping my situation.”

“I know,” the dwarf said firmly, and he did know now what he was doing. Against his better judgment he knew what he wanted, and had maybe always wanted, beneath the endless bickering and exasperation.

Legolas’ eyes fluttered open. They were as bright and dark as the sky surrounding them. “No you don’t, Gimli.” And yet he leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, as close as they’d ever been. 

“You see so much,” Gimli said lowly. “But you’re blind towards what’s staring you in the face.” Brown eyes poured into blue.

“Oh Gimli,” Legolas swallowed and cupped Gimli’s jaw. “You should have left when I asked it of you.”

“No,” whispered Gimli, leaning forward. “I should not have.” And he closed the distance between their faces and caught the elf’s lips with his own.

Legolas’ mouth parted, and he softly kissed Gimli back, stroking his jaw. They stayed joined like that for several moments. They drew back to share one more glance. And without speaking, something in their look decided for them. And Legolas leaned in and kissed Gimli once more, much less softly.

Gimli groaned and returned the motion in kind. He wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist, holding him flush against his body. Legolas’ breath hitched and he deepened the kiss. Gimli felt like a moth drawn to a flame, burning all over.

Legolas’ ran his hands up and down Gimli’s jaw, leaving fire in his wake. This was the most alive Gimli had felt since the beginning of their quest. After so much time on the road with barely time to stop and catch one’s breath, Gimli felt himself coming undone beneath the elf’s long fingers, in the best possible way.

Gimli released Legolas and smirked at the protest uttered against his lips. It was soon stopped by Gimli’s reaching up to unbutton the clasps on Legolas’ tunic. Easier said than done.

“Damn. Elvish. Fashions,” he grunted, not knowing how to maneuver the buckles to come undone. 

Legolas smiled and in one motion pulled the cloth up and over his head, his long torso gleaming like the blade of a sword.

But no sword was so warm to the touch. No sword was quite so soft when Gimli cradled it in his hands. And no sword shuddered when Gimli stroked it.

When Gimli’s palm reached Legolas’ breast, Legolas placed his hands over the dwarf’s, pressing both of thei hands atop a racing heartbeat.

“Gimli,” he breathed. “You are sure about this?”

“Surer by the minute, laddie,” he replied, hands working their way from under Legolas’ to stroke down to the tops of Legolas’ trousers. “Surer by the minute.”

Legolas grinned, and with a raised eyebrow made it abundantly clear what he thought about Gimli still being dressed. They both began to go about taking care of that with a great deal of cursing, laughing and accidental hair pulling. When it was done, Legolas gave a shove to the center of Gimli’s broad chest, and sent him sprawling to the grass. He immediately leaned over Gimli, and sank against his body, prompting a low groan from both parties, at the relief of contact. 

Legolas poised his head over Gimli’s, and Gimli leaned up to kiss his softly. Legolas bent his head to allow him better access, and a wave of golden hair fell around them, enveloping them both in a private world, outsiders be damned.

Legolas began rocking slowly against Gimli’s body and Gimli let him set a torturous pace. The elf’s fingers danced across his body, skimming over his heavily muscled arms and coming to rest in his hair. Legolas tightly fisted his hands in the thick auburn tangle, and thrust hotly against him. Gimli felt a jolt of white hot desire spike straight to his gut, and he arched upwards and pressed his body against the elf, in turn.

Before long both were panting, barely able to find the strength to hold their mouths together. Legolas’ thrusts were becoming shallower and more desperate, his eyes becoming unfocused. Gimli reached up to grasp him, turning his head, forcing him to face him. He then leaned up and pressed their lips together, hard.

Legolas shuddered and bucked, and Gimli was overcome by a bright light that seemed to go on and on. He moaned and kissed the elf, thoroughly. He felt a dampness spreading between his thighs, realizing it was both of theirs. Legolas collapsed on top of Gimli, boneless and damp with sweat.

Gimli ran his hand over Legolas’ back, in a soothing motion. “I didn’t realize elves ever deigned to sweat in the presence of others,” he teased.

Legolas didn’t take the bait. He leaned up to take in the sight of Gimli’s thoroughly spent body. “Dear Gimli,” surprising both of them with the endearment. “Whatever else, I don’t think I could ever think of you as others.” And then he smiled down at the dwarf and Gimli was lost.


	4. Chapter 4

The hobbits stared at Gimli. Unconcerned, Gimli took a swallow of his ale and took a bite into the roast chicken that had been served somewhere in the telling of his tale. When he looked back over his mug the hobbits were still staring.

“Well?”

Their faces were slowly starting to look human again, although humans with mild indigestion.

Pippin swallowed. “Gimli,, I had no idea you could tell a story so – “

“- vividly,” finished Merry, which a slight grimace.

Gimli smiled, knowing the hobbits’ distaste was just posturing. He heard stories from their mouths that would make the roughest dwarf blush.

“Well like it or not, there ye have it.” Gimli said.

“What, that’s it?” gaped Pippin. “What about the rest?”

“What rest?”

“You can’t expect us to believe you left it at that!” exclaimed Merry.

“Why not?” rumbled Gimli. “We were in boats at sunrise, and you try having relations in a boat, ye miserable…”

“Yes, but,” interjected Merry. “Not even when we landed?”

“When we landed?” roared Gimli. “ When we landed we had the almost immediate pleasure of chasing you lot across half of Middle Earth, you might recall. Or would you have preferred us to make braiding each other’s hair a priority in the middle of that fine chase?”

The hobbits look sufficiently chastised (a rare sight if Gimli had ever seen one). But in all truth, Gimli hadn’t been entirely honest. Not to say there had been any further encounters since just that once, in Lórien. But that one moment had created a window between them where there hadn’t been one before. And in this window there was more understanding than Gimli had ever come to feel with another being, dwarf, hobbit, or what have you. Spending prolonged amounts of time in the same boat led to the swapping of stories, trying to out-do one another with jokes, and sharing histories, ideas, everything. In that long boat ride Gimli had shared thoughts with the elf that he’d never even told another dwarf, and he wager that Legolas had done the same. They’d built up something so tentatively precious that Gimli almost thought it had shattered when the hobbits were carried off and the fellowship was splintering apart. But when Aragorn - lord love that crazy human – had rallied them to make chase, Gimli let himself hope. And he felt his heart take off like never before when he looked into Legolas’ eyes and saw his own resolve mirrored there. Not to say they had stopped sniping at each other, that much was a given. But now their interactions were laced with tenderness, time to act on it or not

Dimly aware that Merry was talking again, Gimli jerked himself out of his reveries. “Sorry, I was just thinking about – “

“Yes thank you, I don’t believe that what you were thinking about requires any elaboration,” said Merry, smirking hugely. “I was saying that this is all fairly new then, isn’t it? You and him?”

“I suppose in a sense it is,” nodded Gimli. 

“Well what are you waiting for?” said Pippin. “So you’ve found us, the quest can keep. You’ve got time now, haven’t you?”

Gimli looked up and across the room at a familiar blond head that had just appeared in his vision. Legolas and Eomer were by a table, setting up row upon row of tankards. Legolas glanced over and caught Gimli looking at him. Grabbing four of the empty tankards by their handles, Legolas deftly spun them about on his fingers and flung them into the air, performing a brief but nimble juggling routine, before setting them down again. He quirked an eyebrow at Gimli, and inclined his head towards the table, with the barest of smiles. Gimli felt affection glowing inside him from head to toe.

“Yes, lad,” he said, standing up. “We’ve got time now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Annnnd thus concludes the first ~legitimate~ fic I've ever written, I hope you like it! I have nooo idea what I'm doing so please feel absolutely free to comment, critique, make suggestions or whatever! Like seriously, literally all I know about fic comes from what I've read by people with infinitely more talent than me so yeee haha. Thanks for making it this far! xo


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